Why do we look towards the past? Is it to reflect on events that have happened in the hopes of learning from them, or simply because its generally a more pleasant experience to luxuriate in a time to which we obviously cannot return, but which still provides a sense of comfort while connecting us to prior generations. I recently heard a beautiful lyric in the song “Friends” by new folk master Jesse Welles in which he boldly claims that “history doesn’t repeat itself – it rhymes”, which is a fascinating way to look at our relationship with the past and the remnants that we carry with us in our daily lives. A wonderful film that explores this idea in vivid detail is The Cry of Granuaile, the third film from Dónal Foreman, who tells the story of an American filmmaker of Irish heritage who decides to make a film about Granuaile, otherwise known as Grace O’Malley, a notorious “pirate queen” whose adventures have become part of Irish culture for centuries – and in an effort to do research for a film she intends to make about this folkloric figure, the filmmaker and her Irish assistant find themselves learning not only more about the subject, but about one another and themselves, particularly when it becomes clear that the spectre of Granuaile is not merely in their hearts and minds, but lingers over their every interaction, especially when they begin to dig much deeper into the origins of this individual and the boundary between fact and fiction. A wholeheartedly brilliant work that not only immediately establishes Foreman as one of the most exciting directors to emerge from Ireland recently, but a masterful examination of some weighty themes that would be inscrutable had it not been guided by some bold, ambitious ideas that draw us in with the promise of redefining our understanding of both ourselves and the world that surrounds us, The Cry of Granuaile is an exceptional cinematic achievement that has inexplicably remained unfairly underseen or discussed for the past three years, and is in dire need of further attention, as it genuinely feels like the birth of an essential new cinematic voice.

There are two kinds of homecoming – the one when we return to the place where we grew up or spent certain formative moments of our lives, and the one in which we find ourselves in a place where we may not have physically been present before, but which was the homeland of our ancestors, the place where are roots are found, a spiritual return that can often be the most empowering and insightful. In both cases, there are certain challenges that we need to face, especially when it comes to reckoning with the unbearable weight of the past, which has been carried on on our shoulders for generation, and which every one of us hopes will be able to be alleviated through directly confronting generational trauma, rather than concealing it in the hopes of it disappearing as time progressed. This concept takes on a much deeper meaning in The Cry of Granuaile, which ultimately becomes a film about memory and identity, and how our culture plays a role in defining who we are, sometimes in ways that we genuinely don’t realise until we are right in the middle of reconsidering just how far our origins go in shaping us as people. Both of the main characters in this film are women from very different walks of life – they differ in terms of nationality, age and profession, and even deviate in personality and ambition, making their pairing somewhat peculiar, particularly when it becomes clear that they exist in some kind of symbiotic relationship, one not being able to exist without the other. The structure of the film – as well as its flirtations with various genres – aid in emphasizing certain ideas, particularly when it becomes clear that the two women at the heart of The Cry of Granuaile are gradually being transformed into the subject of their research, whether we view this as a metaphorical result of their growing obsession, or a more literal, logic-defying deconstruction of their identity and how we are simply the product of generations of people who played a part in our identity.

As far as its thematic inventory goes, The Cry of Granuaile is certainly not at all lacking – but Foreman is entirely aware that having a strong concept is only part of telling such a story, and he expends as much energy and effort into the execution as he did the narrative, which was already layered and complex in ways that its seemingly simple exterior may not accurately represent. The film is shot on gorgeous 16mm film, with the director of photography crafting unforgettable images that speak in ways that the words we hear throughout simply could never hope to articulate. Filmed on location in various parts of west Ireland, the film captures the beauty and mystery of the country and its people with such extraordinary sensitivity and attention to detail, which immediately elevates the film from simply being about the places and instead draws our attention to the hundreds of years of rich cultural history on which these perfectly-preserved pieces of history proudly still stand. Purely in terms of filmmaking, The Cry of Granuaile is an astonishing achievement, a revolutionary and daring work of cinematic mastery that carries an intensity and complexity the likes of which we have rarely glimpsed with such extraordinary commitment to not only the message, but the innermost details that many filmmakers would have taken for granted. It does help that the grainy filmmaking is perfectly adapted to the surrounding tone – the entire film is shrouded in a dreamlike atmosphere, oscillating between intimate and sprawling where required, and creating a work that is as driven by its mood as it is the story, the two working in conjunction to create a beautiful, moving testament to the inner themes that drive this narrative. Foreman has an incredible ability to commit his ideas to screen in such a way that we may not always understand everything that is transpiring, but where we do know that it is purposeful and exists for a reason, which gradually become more clear as the film unravels and becomes more poignant and engaging, much of which has to do with how he and his small team of creative collaborators put these ideas together on screen.

The Cry of Granuaile is certainly a film that veers towards the esoteric throughout, and the one element that constantly allows it to return to a place where we can all recognise the themes lingering beneath the surface comes in the form of the performances, with the entire film being anchored by two exceptional performers. The more prominent of the two (in terms of both prominence as an actor and the role she plays in this story) is Dale Dickey, who has been a mainstay in independent cinema for decades, becoming one of the most hardworking and reliable performers of her generation, but rarely receiving the acclaim she deserves. Mercifully, this has gradually shifted over the past few years, where Dickey has gone from consistently good supporting player who remains unheralded, to someone who is receiving the recognition her talents absolutely warrant. She’s remarkable in this film – the sheer amount of pain, sadness and despair present in this character would have been intimidating for most actors, but Dickey embraces these various challenges with such incredible dedication, it is startling the extent to which she is willing to go to bring this character to life. Conversely, Judith Roddy has not done much work outside her native Ireland, so you’d be forgiven if this is your introduction to her. Unfortunately, she has the unenviable task of playing the more stringent and dour companion to Dickey’s more exuberant, offbeat protagonist, but she manages to turn this character from a stern and humourless academic into a more honest, poignant representative of a group of people who are desperate to preserve their culture, by any means necessary. Both actors (as well as the supporting cast) are wonderful, and deliver such rich, evocative performances that simmer with compassion and a keen attention to detail, every role occupied by someone whose affection and respect for the material is entirely matched by the strength of their work and commitment to helping this film realise its potential.

While it is always a good idea to practice restraining yourself from making statements that are too bold or excessive, sometimes it is impossible to say anything that doesn’t come across as hyperbolic, mostly because anything more tempered would be an immense disservice. In the case of this film, we cannot avoid proclaiming Foreman as one of the great young filmmakers to have emerged in the last decade, an essential voice who I wholeheartedly believe is going to redefine cinema on his terms, with this particular film being an extraordinary example of his skill, visual mastery and narrative ingenuity, all of which he bundles together into an dynamic masterpiece. This is not only a dynamic and beautiful tribute to Irish culture, as seen through an examination of one of its most fascinating figures of folklore, but a deep and moving exploration of identity and how we piece together fragments of our personal histories to create our bespoke internal narratives. The film is often difficult to grasp – it does not intend to justify everything, and ultimately does contain certain vague elements that can cause the viewer to feel at least somewhat bewildered. However, we find that the ambiguities that are scattered throughout this film are not only worth exploring, but prove to be the lifeblood of the narrative, the aspect that captures our attention and draws us in, keeping us engaged and interested, which helps in allowing the film to forego a more conventional structure and instead allows it to take on a stream-of-consciousness approach, a freewheeling, bold eruption of ideas that may seem impenetrable at the start, but have a striking honesty that pays tribute to not only the history of a country, but also the people across the centuries that have pledged their personal and professional lives to maintaining these mythologies, which are as important to a culture as the more tangible elements – and in many cases, the folklore that we associate with a particular population is in many ways the most integral means to preserve their history and identity, something that we have seen become an increasingly more common point of discussion as time progresses and we are forced to look at the surrounding world quite differently and with an elevated sense of scrutiny.